


Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

by Skyfirewolf



Series: Hamilton short stories [3]
Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: 20 years after Hamilton dies, Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, Gen, Gilbert is a sad old man, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Hurt No Comfort, I didn't write it like that but eh, Lafayette just wants his family back, Misery, Musical References, No Hercules Mulligan b/c Mulligan and Lafayette actually didn't meet, Reminiscing, This takes place ten years before Lafayette dies, idk - Freeform, if you squint? - Freeform, maybe slight Gay Trio?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:29:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24132859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyfirewolf/pseuds/Skyfirewolf
Summary: Inspired by the song Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from the Les Mis movie.Marquis de Lafayette returns to America for the last time and reminisces about the people he's lost
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette & Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette & George Washington, John Laurens & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette
Series: Hamilton short stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596310
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

August 15, 1824.

Marquis de Lafayette, now aged 66, stood at the bow of the ship, watching the shores of New York draw closer.

The welcoming he received from the people of his promised land was spectacular; the streets filled with cheering people and a troop of Revolutionary War veterans greeted him at the dock.  
The city erupted into celebration for four straight days. Balls were organized for him and veterans from the Revolution.

Yet... he did not feel the excitement he may have been expected to.

During the balls, he wandered around aimlessly in his old continental uniform, akin to a ghost with his pale complexion and features weathered with age. He talked when the occasional conversationalist stopped him and laughed at their jokes and stories. Some faces were familiar, and so they spoke about the old days and the battles and closeness and camaraderie with the other soldiers they missed. However, he was always more than happy to let the conversation drop and draw away from the world like an injured creature.

He felt wrong.

He felt alone.

He felt lost.

...He felt empty.

**There's a grief that can't be spoken,**

His heart ached for those he had loved and lost. Laurens, Alexander, Washington, Adrienne, they had all held a place in his heart that had crumbled when they'd passed. He grieved deeply for them all.

He decided to go to the one person who would understand. But would she be willing to listen? 

It turned out that he hadn't needed to fret. 

The moment Elizabeth Hamilton opened her door to see him, her weathered, tired face split into a fond smile. She hugged him, ignoring proprietary. For the briefest moment, Lafayette allowed himself to relax into this comforting gesture and return it. When Eliza silently led him inside, he didn't resist. And so they sat, drinking warm tea. 

For a while, they didn't speak, Gilbert had nothing to say, and he knew that Eliza understood.

**There's a pain goes on and on.**

He knew she understood his feeling of being lost, his feeling of emptiness... his feeling of grief.

And when that emptiness finally seemed to consume him, leading to slow tears rolling down his face, he knew she still understood.

Once his tears dried, he embraced her and left. He told the carriage to take him to the one place in New York he remembered and was ready to face.

**Empty chairs at empty tables,**

He swept off his powdered wig and stepped into the tavern. It was empty. As much a relic of the past as Lafayette's memories of it. As much as Lafayette was himself.

**Now my friends are dead and gone.**

He recalled how he, Laurens and Hamilton had sat and celebrated their victories in this same tavern all those years ago, a trio of ambitious young men convinced that they could make a difference.

Then he remembered the letters he received of their deaths and the misery that came after.

**Here they talked of revolution,**

He recalled his first time meeting the men who would later become some of the most valued people in his life. 

**Here it was they lit the flame,**

He remembered Alexander: with his hair the color of fire and eyes like an ocean storm, his extraordinary ability to talk, how he was able to light and rekindle the flame of determination in the hearts of the troops and other aides.

**Here they sang about tomorrow and tomorrow never came.**

He remembered Laurens: with a golden mane and eyes like the bluest sky, his reckless determination to put an end to slavery all over the new nation. 

He remembered how his recklessness ended up being his downfall at the Combahee river.

**From the table in the corner,**

He limped to the table in the furthest corner, the favorite spot of his old friends, and sat down with a grunt.

**They could see a world reborn,**

He recalled the stories and dreams of his friends, of how they could change the world for everyone's benefit.

**And they rose with voices ringing,**

He recalled the old war songs, some of death and grief, some of battle and glory.

**And I can hear them now**

He could almost hear their voices, their laughter. Their grief and anger.

**The very words that they have sung**

"Raise a glass to freedom!" 

**Became their last communion**

"Tomorrow there'll be more of us."

**On this lonely barricade, at dawn.**

Gilbert had never felt so helpless.

**Oh my friends, my friends forgive me**

He should have written to them more. Maybe he could have prevented their passing.

**That I live and you are gone**

Even in a city with so many people, he had never felt so alone.

**There's a grief that can't be spoken,**

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he raked a hand through his hair, which was mostly gray now, with only hints of its original red.

**And there's a pain goes on and on**

Silent tears soaked his cheeks. 

**Phantom faces at the window,**

He closed his eyes, and could almost picture the faces of his beloved lost ones.

**Phantom shadows on the floor,**

Was he imagining those familiar footsteps on the floor? He must be.

**Empty chairs at empty tables where my friends will meet no more.**

Sitting alone in a tavern as much a relic as he was, the Marquis realized one thing that made the hole in his heart grow bigger still.

He was alone.

**Oh my friends, my friends don't ask me**

Soft sobs tore out of his throat, and he bowed his head.

**What your sacrifice was for**

Laurens died for what he believed in. Freedom. 

Alexander attended the fatal duel for what he'd always fought for. Peace. 

Washington died as the father of a nation and a leader to look up to.

And Lafayette was still here.

**Empty chairs at empty tables**

All he'd ever wanted was a happy life in the freedom of his country and his dear friends to spend it with. 

Was it too much for an orphaned immigrant from France to look for happiness?

**Where my friends will sing no more.**

Apparently, it always would be.

He sighed, slipped on his coat and wig once more, and left.

Best make the most of what he had left.


End file.
